Dear Diary

Entry 33

Dear Diary,
Hallo. I'm slowly getting ready for church right now. Ok I'm ready, my mother is the slow one. I'm happy that G said he'd come today, but at the same time I don't want him to feel like he has too. Just cause I go doesn't mean he has too. He could sleep in if he wants, I wouldn't mind, I'd just go back to work in the nursery or greet people like I always do. It's not a big deal. I kind of feel like it's being forced on him. I don't want that to be forced on him! He doesn't have to anything he doesn't want to, and I hope he knows that. I'm still nervous about him meeting my pastor, his wife, my youth pastor, and one of the ladies who works in the sound booth. They're a little, strange, and even though I've known them since I was about six I'm still shy around them. Oh well. I hope the service is interesting, I haven't heard one since I started working the nursery cause that was also the time I started greeting on the Sundays I wasn't with screaming kids. I guess that's all for now cause my mom is almost ready. I think G had fun at church. He looked like he could cry at one part. My pastor also kind of singled him out and made us sit in the front. I didn't mind. We had lunch then dropped off my nephew at his place. On the way to G's house we cuddled, I somewhat laid on him. He played with my hair and kept an arm around me. I almost fell asleep. It was nice, he kissed me again, I swear just thinking about it makes my heart falter, it's nuts, I've never been like this before. After he left I stayed at my grandma's house while they went to Walmart. My ankle still hurts a lot so there was no way I was going with them. Now I'm sitting on my couch wishing I was dead, or with G, I'll take either at this point. Mainly cause my family won't shut up about the fucking cuts on my thigh. Every time they bring it up I want to start crying cause it just means more lying to my family. I wish that I could tell them and them understand, but they would probably disown me or something. They don't believe in this stuff. Especially self hatred, they see no point in it. My self hatred comes with my depression and is only getting worse. I can barely look in the mirror without wanting to scream at myself every word I've ever been called. I want to believe G when he says I'm beautiful. But how can I can be beautiful with all these fucking scars and cuts every where? How can I be beautiful when I all I can see is a monster. I'm nothing, and I'll most likely stay that way. That's all for today, if my ankle isn't feeling any better tomorrow I might go to a doctor, so I hope it's better cause I don't like people. Bye.

Artistically yours,
H